


Best Laid Plans

by ThereBeWhalesHere



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, Lemon, M/M, Marathon Sex, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Objectification, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, PWP, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 08:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26350099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereBeWhalesHere/pseuds/ThereBeWhalesHere
Summary: If Connor wants to seduce Hank with any confidence, he's going to have to learn how to have sex first. Luckily for him, Gavin Reed seems interested in teaching Connor a thing or two.The only problem? Connor might have misjudged how much he'd enjoy getting fucked. Reed has to call in some backup.
Relationships: Connor/Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson/Connor, Hank Anderson/Connor/Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson/Gavin Reed
Comments: 19
Kudos: 218





	Best Laid Plans

**Author's Note:**

> So I started this as an accidental Twitter thread last night and got a little nervous about having THIS MUCH horny on my TL. So I figured I'd finish it up here. It's basically just a full-on sex montage, with like some feelings in there??? I dunno. They're into each other. All of 'em. It gets tender.
> 
> Forgive any weirdness or typos or what-have-you. Between starting it on Twitter and finishing it drunk, I'm not actually sure what it sounds like, hahaaaaaaa!

Connor is in trouble, but at least he knows how to fix it. 

See, it started the day after the revolution, when he chose to accept Hank’s invitation to live in Hank’s home. Then, it was exacerbated by Captain Fowler’s offer for Connor to continue working with the DPD, as Hank’s partner. Each day of the last few months has made this situation worse. But Connor is practical, and there’s no sense wishing things were different when they simply… are. And he has control over how his situation progresses from here.

So, yes, he has come to terms with the fact that he is both in love with and attracted to Hank -- his partner, roommate, best friend. And he is reasonably certain given all available evidence that Hank feels the same. But Hank is a 54-year-old man with an extensive sexual history by Connor's estimation, and Connor -- having woken up mere months ago -- is inexperienced. 

Since purchasing and installing the genital components he wanted, he has yet to make a move. The probability of success when addressing any problem is infinitely lower without data and experience behind the attempt. He has no data. No experience. And he needs something if he is to approach Hank with any confidence.

Thankfully, there are other assets at his disposal. Connor was built to be attractive, and he has not failed to notice that Gavin Reed, asshole though he is, has stared at Connor with a very particular look in his eyes, and has warmed up a little since the revolution. They aren't friends by any stretch, but Connor doesn't need a friend. In fact, the less he feels for Reed the better -- the easier it will be to concentrate on capturing data and learning from what Reed might be able to teach him.

He has a list of objectives, a three-phase plan: Seduce Gavin Reed; obtain experience relevant in the pursuit of Hank Anderson; seduce Hank Anderson. 

It should be easy, once the first two objectives are complete, to make good on the third.

Phase one of his plan goes into action one day after work, when he tells Hank he needs to run an errand. “Don’t wait up for me,” he says, and Hank looks concerned, confused, but he doesn’t press. 

Connor is glad for that. He doesn’t like lying to Hank, and he can’t possibly tell Hank where he’s actually going, and why. 

Nor can he tell Gavin. If Gavin has time to think about it, he may say no, and Gavin is Connor’s best shot. So that evening he takes a cab to Gavin’s apartment unannounced, just as the sun is beginning to set over the Detroit skyline.

Gavin opens the door -- surprised, put-upon, already in his pajamas and likely expecting a quiet evening indoors. But Connor estimates his probability of success is high by the way Gavin’s pupils dilate upon seeing him. And that probability increases as Connor chooses to be blunt. He straightens his shirt, looks Gavin in the eyes and says: "I need you to teach me how to have sex so I can seduce Lieutenant Anderson." 

Gavin blinks at him. And Gavin, who has been watching Connor these last months with a quiet intensity he’d hoped had gone unnoticed, considers: He has had a crush on Hank since he was a lowly rookie cop, and in the ensuing years as Hank has turned bitter and drunk, that crush has gone sour. He knows Hank is into Connor, and Connor is _beautiful_ \-- so beautiful it’s almost painful to look at him. So what better way to stick it to the old man than to stick it to his android partner?

The decision takes moments to make, and Gavin steps aside, letting Connor in. 

It's awkward at first. Gavin leads Connor down the hall and into the bedroom, noticing that LED spinning yellow as Connor takes in the crisply made bedsheets, the color-coded and organized closet, the gleaming chestnut finish of his furniture, not a speck of dust to be found. And Gavin doesn’t want to be analyzed by the robocop -- doesn’t want the kind of intimacy of Connor knowing anything about what he’s really like at home. What he does want is the kind of intimacy that gets Connor out of his clothes and onto that bed, hopefully distracted enough not to think of anything but what he came here for. So Gavin draws Connor’s attention, standing right before him, his hands coming to Connor’s collar. The android is stiff as Gavin slips the tie out of his collar, as Gavin's fingers pop the buttons of his shirt one by one. Connor is staring at him, quiet, unnerving. Gavin pauses. 

"So, first off, fucking  _ relax _ ." He says. 

It doesn't do much. Connor tries, forcing his shoulders to fall, his jaw to unclench, but his LED is still glowing yellow, even obvious in the yellow light of sunset coming in through the window and the yellow glow of the bedside table lamp. Connor doesn’t typically second-guess his ideas, but Gavin is intimidating in his own way. So sure of himself, so confident in this experiment. And somehow in this golden light he’s much, much more handsome than Connor ever realized before. Rather than causing any sort of arousal or pleasurable sensation, the realization just makes Connor uncomfortable.

It isn't until Gavin slips the shirt off Connor's shoulders and begins to run his hands over Connor's smooth, bare chest, that Connor begins to feel ... something. Something soothing and exhilarating all at once. Gavin's hands are rough, but his touch is gentle, and the contrast is intriguing. And with Gavin’s eyes grazing appreciatively over Connor’s form, Connor’s confidence builds just slightly. 

Connor hums, and Gavin smiles. Connor's eyes unfocus as he processes the sensation. 

“There,” Gavin says. It’s soft. “Just let yourself feel it, alright?”

“Alright,” Connor says. He closes his eyes, Gavin’s hands continue their exploration of Connor’s body, Connor's synthskin trying to retreat from the touch so Gavin’s callouses can scratch against the bare plastic of his chassis. The thought makes him feel exposed. 

He likes it.

He likes it more when Gavin nudges him backwards, encourages him to sit on the edge of the bed and scoot back until he’s laying comfortably against the pillows. Connor likes this next part the most, watching Reed pull the T-shirt off his back, step out of his sweatpants, every inch of him tanned and scarred and sculpted. 

He’s focused so intently, in fact, on Gavin’s form, that he forgets to feel uncomfortable or unsure as Gavin crawls onto the bed, straddles Connor’s hips, lays on top of him and lowers his lips to Connor’s. Connor knows how to form the shape of a kiss, and he purses his lips, lets Gavin take control, lets Gavin run his hands up and down Connor’s abdomen. 

Gavin massages Connor’s skin with gentle encouragement, kissing Connor until the body below him begins to uncoil its tension. And Connor is a fast learner. Gavin licks into his mouth, nips his lip, and Connor mirrors the movement expertly. But imitation isn't enough for a good fuck, so Gavin whispers against Connor's lips that he should try touching him. Try tilting his head or kissing his neck or playing with his hair. 

Connor does, inexpertly running his hands up and down Gavin's back, pressing a kiss to the corner of Gavin's mouth. Gavin is all encouragement and praise and gentle suggestion as Connor explores him, but it isn’t just for Connor’s benefit. Gavin arches into the feeling of those soft, strong hands kneading into his muscles, and he brushes his groin against Connor’s just to feel the fabric of Connor’s slacks against his bare skin. 

Gavin didn’t know what kind of equipment Connor might have, if any, but the telltale sign of an erection brushing against his own drives out any curiosity or confusion. Now he just wants to feel it. To see it. And as they kiss and Connor relaxes beneath him, it seems Connor won't ask him to wait too long.

Because Connor thought he was going into this just for Hank, so that he could please Hank when the time came. But this feels... good.  _ Amazing. _ To be worshiped and pampered with hot breath and roaming hands, to feel a hard body against him … He grows bold, sucking small marks into Gavin's neck, and Gavin rolls his hips and grinds out delicious friction between them. 

Connor is hard for the first time in his life, and he wants to see this feeling through. The pamphlets described what might happen internally to his software, his wires -- but nothing could describe the feeling of arousal, like a slow poison seeping into his circuits. It doesn't take long for him to reach down and unbuckle his pants, to kick them off, for him to pull Gavin close to him and relish the first brush of skin against his brand new cock, and he whines and ruts and chases the feeling against Gavin's abdomen, lips going slack against Gavin's hot mouth. 

It's unlike anything he has ever experienced, when the orgasm shakes through him. A thrill rockets down his wires, his systems overheating as error messages blur past his vision, one after another, and the garbled list of tasks and objectives glitches behind his eyes and even as he’s trembling and coming over his stomach, he chokes out "more" "again" "please" through a voice box strained by static. 

And Gavin is laying over him, right on the edge himself, trapped by Connor's legs around his back, watching the look of complete and unbridled awe and pleasure roll over Connor's face. Connor wants more? That’s easy to provide. He could draw this out, give Connor a bit more education, a bit more foreplay, but oh the sight of Connor coming for the first time in his life has made Gavin selfish. He lines himself up with Connor's hole and -- without a thought -- sinks into him, effortless in spite of how tight those walls clench around him. Connor comes again immediately at the sudden intrusion, body clenching, eyes fluttering mechanically. And Gavin makes a noise he'd be embarrassed by if he had any sort of coherent thought left. But Connor feels so different -- hot and wet with synthetic lube, and pulsating around him like something in him is undulating with Gavin’s movements. Gavin comes in two shallow thrusts. 

As he collapses onto Connor and pants for breath, he thinks for just a moment that that was it. It was  _ great, _ but it's over, and Connor got what he needed and Gavin did too, and that's fine. Perfect even. But Connor is still rock hard between their stomachs and he's jerking his hips and seeking more friction and clutching at Gavin desperately. "More." "Again." "Please." When Gavin pulls back, Connor's eyes are completely glazed over, dumbstruck. And Gavin realizes that, well. It's not over after all. 

Gavin tries, bless him. When he pulls out and Connor shudders and whines with the loss, he curls his fist around Connor’s cock and pumps, inelegant and fast, but when Connor comes with a cry and clutches at Gavin's arms, he tells Gavin exactly what he wants. (He’s good at that.)

“I want to be full,” he moans, spreading his legs as if in invitation. "It felt so good. So good." Connor sinks two fingers into himself even as his incessant erection twitches on his stomach. Gavin watches, Connor’s come still slick on his own hand. 

The sight of him laid out like that might be the hottest thing Gavin has ever laid eyes on, but he's only human, and he can't get it up again when he's barely come down from his first orgasm. 

So he clambers off his bed and pulls out the cardboard box stashed beneath it. Connor asks blearily after his absence, “Where -- Gavin, please -- where are you going?” But Gavin doesn’t leave him alone for long. Inside that box is tucked every toy Gavin owns, and when he sets it on the bed and opens it up, Connor’s eyes go wide with wanting. 

“I’m gonna need a minute to recover, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun,” Gavin says, spilling the toys out on the bed. “Take your pick.”

Connor meets his eyes, something dark in his expression. “Surprise me,” he whispers. And Gavin cannot possibly say no to that.

What follows is a stretch of hours that seem to last days, and simultaneously lose the meaning of time completely. Gavin kneels between Connor’s legs, shoving vibrators into Connor's ass while he sucks him off and Connor clutches Gavin’s head, bucking into his throat; Gavin stuffs Connor with a string of anal beads, then climbs into his lap and sinks onto Connor’s cock, riding him while Connor writhes beneath him. Gavin’s hard again by the time Connor comes inside him, so he flips Connor over and takes him again, shoving Connor’s face into the mattress while he pounds that hole relentlessly, taking his time to savor that pulsating feeling while Connor tears at the sheets and comes and jerks and bucks beneath him. When Gavin fills him up once again, Connor glitches out so hard his voice box lets out a sound like an alarm, blaring before Connor can take control over it again, speaking garbled static until he calms down.

By the time the sun has set fully in the sky and the moon has begun to climb over the high-rises out Gavin’s window, Gavin is sweaty and covered in synthetic lube and exhausted, and Connor is still writhing on his bed, the sheets torn from one of the corners of the mattress, the pillows in disarray. 

It’s while Connor’s fucking himself on Gavin’s favorite dildo -- a massive thing made of purple-tinted glass with a bulbous head that always hits just the right spot -- that Gavin’s steam runs out. But Connor’s still going. 

"Con,” Gavin croaks, his throat raw. Connor doesn’t seem to hear him. “Con! Hey. Can we call it a night?" He’s rubbing his aching wrist, the twist and pull of his third or so handjob having done him in. But Connor raises his head off the pillow, looks at him with a pleading expression.

"I need more," he whispers. "Never... I never knew it felt like this." His LED flashes red, and his eyes roll back as he tweaks the toy, obviously hitting something right.

Gavin gets it. He remembers when he first discovered sex, and if he'd had an android's stamina he never would have stopped either. But he can sympathize with Connor and still need a breather. Besides, Connor never wanted Gavin. Gavin was the means to an end. 

But, staring at Connor, Gavin has to admit he has had a hell of a good time, and he can’t just kick Connor out on the streets, covered in come with an erection he can’t control. This may have been Gavin’s way of getting his rocks off while getting one up on Hank Anderson, but whether both he and Connor went into it for the wrong reasons, they are certainly in it now. 

"Alright," Gavin says. "Just … give me a minute." 

He leaves Connor there on the bed with the overturned box of toys spilled out over the mattress and the floor, one vibrator still buzzing away, abandoned. He throws a bathrobe on over his shoulders and walks on wobbly legs into the kitchen where he left his phone hours ago. He should probably consider the call he makes for more than five seconds before he makes it, but his brain is about as glitched out as Connor's at this point.

The phone only rings once before Hank answers. "What the hell do you want?"

Gavin rubs his face. "I need you to come pick up your android." 

There's a pause on the other end of the line. "Connor?” Hank asks, dumbfounded. “What's he doing at your place?" 

Gavin doesn't have time to go into what all Connor is doing -- he can hear the creak of the bed as Connor fucks himself on that dildo, can hear Connor's truncated whines in the bedroom. 

"What  _ isn't _ he doing? Listen, man. I'm all fucked out, and you're the one he wants anyway. Think of it like a relay race, yeah? Your turn. Take him home and make good on those doe eyes you're always shooting his way." 

Hank seems to take a moment to digest this. When he says "I'm on my way," it's hard and clipped and upset, and Gavin should probably feel remorse for fucking the guy Hank’s obviously head-over-heels for. But Gavin doesn't much care about anything at this point. He did what he could, and now Hank and Connor can fuck it out and finally get rid of that sexual tension that's been ruining Gavin's workdays. And if there might be some tension between Gavin and Connor now -- or Gavin and Hank -- or Gavin and the pair of them -- that’s a bridge he can cross at the station tomorrow.

Nothing to do but wait for Hank, Gavin heads back into the bedroom, where Connor is laying like a wet dream, head tilted into the pillow as one hand forces the sleek glass dildo in and out of his hole, and another strokes his cock sure and hard. He looks up and meets Gavin's eyes, pleading. 

"Hank's on his way," Gavin says, wiggling the phone. And Connor comes instantly, his body shuddering, a pitiful spurt of come shooting over his stomach. 

"Hank," he groans, and Gavin rolls his eyes, if only to cover the embarrassment that he’s lain in that exact bed, fucked himself with that exact dildo, and groaned that exact same name at the height of his climax. For some reason the thought of it sends something pleasant and shameful tingling through his nerves.

"Can you hold off til he gets here?" he asks, but he knows the answer.

"No," Connor mutters, fingers trailing up his stomach, eyes hooded as he stares at Gavin. "Can you fuck me again? Please? One more time? There’s time, isn’t there? Before he gets here? You can fuck me and I’ll clean up and he doesn’t have to -- to see. To know." 

If there’s anything that could get Gavin hard again, it's this. The sight of Connor in his bed, begging him to fill him up, deluded to even think he could clean himself up before Hank gets here. He’s a mess, and Gavin made him that way. And maybe it would be nice to let Hank see it.

Gavin lets his robe fall to the floor, enjoying the way Connor’s internal fans begin to hum loudly at the sight. But before he does anything else, Gavin sends a quick text to Hank:  _ Door's unlocked. Let yourself in.  _

Then he tosses his phone onto his bedside table and crawls over Connor once more. The android welcomes him into an embrace, taking his lips in a lazy, open-mouthed kiss.

* * *

When Hank arrives fuming on Gavin's doorstep, he’s repeating everything Gavin said in his mind for the hundredth time. _“I’m all fucked out, and you’re the one he wants anyway.”_ That one sentence tells Hank more than he ever needed to know about where his dear friend Connor has been all night. He should have known something was off when Connor mentioned wanting to go on an "errand." He had everything he needed at home, hadn’t mentioned any maintenance concerns. Hank had a feeling Connor was going to go somewhere private, but this?

Why Gavin Reed, of all people? When Connor knows -- _has_ to know -- that Hank wants him. Hank has just been waiting for Connor to decide when the time was right. Maybe he waited too long. 

_Let yourself in_ , Gavin’s text had read. So Hank does. He takes a deep breath and turns the knob, but he is not prepared for what greets him as soon as he steps inside. Down the hall, he hears a rhythmic  _ thunk-thunk-thunk _ , panting breath, and Gavin's voice uttering senseless curses. And Connor... Connor's voice, gasping and pleading and encouraging in ways Hank has only dreamed about.  _ “Yes, harder, please, yes, thank you, thank you, oh --” _

Hank pauses right there on the threshold, but he can’t just stand there and listen to this. Something in him says he needs to stop it. Something else says he needs to turn around, go home, and leave them to it. Something else, something darker, says he needs to see this. He needs to see what Gavin is doing to Connor to make him wail like that, needs to see what Connor’s doing to Gavin to make him spit that string of curses. So Hank walks slowly down the hall, steeling himself. 

When he rounds the corner into what must be Gavin’s bedroom, it's to a sight he expected, but not a sight he expected to hit him like _ this _ . Connor is splayed out on the bed on his stomach, hands clenched in sheets it looks like he has already torn. Gavin is over him, pounding into him, sweat gleaming down the dip of his back in the dim light from the bedside table. And there's something about the clench of Gavin's muscles as he thrusts, the slack-jawed look of pleasure on Connor's face -- arousal speeds through Hank like a wildfire. 

"Holy shit," he says before he realizes he has put voice to the words at all. 

Connor cracks open his eyes, meets Hank's. "H-- _Hank_ ," he groans, and then those eyes are rolling back in his head and he's coming, shoving back up onto Gavin's cock so hard he almost throws him off. But Gavin holds steady, fucking Connor through the orgasm as if he hadn't even noticed Hank was there -- or as if putting on a show for him. 

And when Gavin crumples over Connor's back and comes with a shout,  _ Hank _ isn't even sure he's there. This is all some dream, isn't it? The attractive detective Hank loves to hate to love, and Connor, who Hank just … loves. They're tangled together as if fulfilling any number of Hank's more shameful fantasies. 

"Holy  _ shit _ ," he says again. Connor is still rutting against the ruined bed, seeking more release, but Gavin pulls out of him slowly, casting a look Hank's way. His face is gleaming with sweat, his cheeks flushed, every inch of him the picture of a man who has been well satisfied.

"Finally," Gavin says on a heavy breath. "You see what I've had to deal with all night?" He slaps Connor's ass playfully, and Hank doesn't fail to notice the spend leaking down Connor's thigh. Gavin gets up from the bed, and Connor opens his bleary eyes again. "Hank," he whispers. "Please." He lifts his ass in the air like an invitation, and Hank’s stomach drops into his feet.

Hank tears his eyes away forcibly, looks to Gavin, who’s shrugging into his bathrobe, running a hand through his mussed hair. Then he looks back to Connor, who has rolled onto his side and is now stretching like a cat in the sun, displaying himself for Hank’s gaze. “Gavin did such a good job,” he says, his hand traveling down to his cock, fingers resting at its base. “But I need…” 

It takes that long for Hank to realize his own cock is half-hard already. He swallows. 

The jealousy and anger that has been churning in his gut since he got Reed’s call has uncoiled and seeped away, leaving something else in its place. The sort of longing ache that he has become used to with Connor. But it has taken on a new form -- longing that he knows can be satisfied. An ache that can be soothed the second he wants it. And now there’s Gavin, inextricably part of the equation now. Hank will touch Connor and feel Gavin’s hands there, too. And for some reason that thought makes him shiver with a possessive and animalistic desire.

Gavin, wearing some smug, self-satisfied expression, turns toward the door and gives Hank’s shoulder an absent pat. “I’m gonna get some water,” he announces. “You two hash this out.”

It isn’t until Gavin’s footsteps recede down the hallway that Hank finds it in himself to speak, staring numbly at Connor -- Connor, who’s needy and desperate, in spite of the come splattered over his stomach and chest. 

“How many times?” Hank asks, voice hoarse.

“Twelve,” Connor purrs, and he begins pumping himself. Hank’s heart jumps into his throat at the sight of that long-fingered hand around that pert, flushed cock. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't t-tell you. It’s amazing, Hank. How do you humans f-function? I never want to stop. I  _ can’t _ stop. All my missions and objectives are gone. I just -- want.” 

“We have refractory periods, for one,” Hank mutters. But he makes his way over to the bed, sheets rumpled, mattress hanging off an edge of the bedframe. Reed must have absolutely ruined Connor to leave the bed in this state. Twelve times he got to see Connor’s face transfixed in ecstasy. Twelve times he got to watch that lithe body writhe, hear the static of his moan. How many times did Reed come? How many times did he fill Connor up? Hank wishes suddenly that Gavin had called him hours ago, just so he could be a fly on the wall, just so he could see the two of them debauched and overwhelmed together all this time.

Hank settles on the edge of the bed, and Connor bites his lip, staring up at Hank as he jerks himself off slowly.

“Baby, we gotta get you home, okay?”

“Why? You could take care of me right here.”

The breath leaves Hank’s lungs. The thought is a tempting one. “Reed asked me to take you home.” 

“He doesn’t  _ really _ want you to,” Connor breathes, his eyes falling shut as he tilts his head back against the bed. “He’s enjoying this. He’d enjoy it more with you here.” A pause. Connor’s body shudders, his hips jerk into his fist, and he gasps as he comes, tiny droplets leaking out the head of his cock and down its length. Still hard. “He could watch,” Connor whispers.

Hank is staring transfixed at Connor when the voice comes from the doorway. “I  _ could _ watch.” 

He looks up, and there’s Gavin, robe open and hanging off his shoulders. He's leaning against the doorframe with a dark look in his eyes.

Because this isn’t what Gavin planned on, when he called Hank over. But the thought of it is fucking delicious. Gavin can’t come again anytime soon. He’s perfectly aware of his body’s limitations. But this is the best possible conclusion to the night, isn’t it? Hank, the man he’s lusted over for years, fucking this perfect little android into Gavin’s own mattress. That’s a show he’d pay to see.

And Hank looks like he’s considering it. He glances down to Connor, then back to Gavin, and the tent in his jeans is so obvious Gavin can’t help but wonder how much heat Hank’s packing, really. Maybe he could fill Connor up right. Maybe he could fill Gavin up. Throw them both down on the bed and fuck them one after the other.

As if Connor has a window into Gavin’s thoughts -- or his own, similar desires -- he reaches for Hank. “Please, Hank,” he moans pitifully. “I’ve wanted it for so long.” 

“That’s why he’s here in the first place,” Gavin puts in, and he meanders over to the armchair in the corner of the room. “Wanted to get some pointers so he could blow your mind.” He flops down in the chair and gives Hank a smile -- the same teasing, mocking smile that Hank probably hates him for. “Come on, let me see how well he’s learned.” 

Hank’s pupils are wide and dark, and he turns to face Connor more fully. Gavin can’t see his face anymore from this angle, but by the look in Connor’s eyes, they’ve won. All it takes is for Connor to reach up, to lay a hand against Hank’s cheek, and Hank is rolling on top of him, that big body dwarfing Connor’s slight frame. Gavin’s chest siezes at the sight, at the way Connor’s shaking hands run up Hank’s back, hiking up his T-shirt.

And Connor nearly soft-reboots just at the idea that in minutes, seconds -- Hank will be _his_.

Connor has analyzed Hank’s entire body over these last months, scanned him through his clothes and guessed at the size and shape of his naked form, but as Hank rears up on his knees and pulls the shirt from over his head, as those big hands fly to his belt buckle and he undoes the fastening of his jeans, Connor has to devote as much processing power as he can to mapping Hank’s scars and tattoos, the curls of his chest hair, all the minute details he’d only dreamed of before. And when Hank shoves his jeans and boxers down to his knees, Connor takes in the impossible dimensions of his cock, knowing already that his hole wasn’t built for that kind of intrusion. It could break him.

But what a way to go.

From the armchair in the corner, Gavin takes in a sharp breath. And a sense of self-satisfaction washes over Connor. He gets to enjoy this cock first. He’s going to be the one Hank fills up. Maybe that will turn Gavin on, piss him off, encourage him to take Connor one more time out of anger or desire or whatever drives him; it doesn't matter. Connor could have Hank and Gavin at once. But he gets to have Hank _first_. He grabs Hank by the back of the neck and pulls him down, taking his lips in a viscous kiss. And if there were any hesitation left in Hank’s body, it leaves him in one fell swoop. He sighs into Connor’s mouth, rolling up against him, his belt buckle clanking with the movement of his hips. He’s massive in every dimension, heavy and warm and soft, and Connor ruts up against his stomach, wraps a leg around his lower back.

“Please,” he says again. And that’s it. 

With a groan, Hank reaches between them and lines himself up with Connor’s entrance. Connor’s been slicked up with lube and Gavin’s come for hours, fucked open, and there’s no resistance as Hank sinks in. An error message flies over his vision -- it’s too big. Too much. He’s too full. He blinks it away.

“Holy shit,” Hank breathes, dropping his head to Connor’s chest as he pulls out and thrusts back in. “What the fuck.  _ Fuck _ , Connor.”

Gavin lets out a low chuckle from the corner. “Never fucked anything like it, right?” he asks. And Connor should be offended to be referred to like that, like an object, but he’s not. He’s just full and buzzing with restless need, and if all he is is a hole for these two to fill whenever the whim strikes them, then he’ll be happy. Elated. He could stay in this bed for days, weeks, legs hiked up, come dribbling down his ass, soft-rebooting every time he comes. 

Hank’s breath is coming out in spurts as he tries to hold back, and Connor writhes to try to get closer. He could buck up to meet Hank’s slow thrusts, but he’s trapped beneath him. Connor’s strong -- he could move Hank if he wanted to, but he doesn’t.

It’s this thought that worms its way into Hank’s mind while Connor wraps his legs helplessly around Hank’s ass, encouraging his slow thrusts, while Connor drools onto the wrinkled sheets beneath his cheek. Connor could take control of this at any moment. He could. And he won’t. And Hank wants to reward him for his patience.

Connor is overheating, obvious by the hum of his internal fans and the almost scalding pressure of his channel around Hank’s cock, and Hank moves faster, grunting with exertion as he fucks into Connor, shoving the android up the bed until Connor’s head hits the headboard and he throws a hand up to brace himself. Sweat begins to bead at Hank’s hairline, pressure building in his gut, but he stares down at Connor the whole time, taking in the pale column of his throat, the way he shudders and jerks and his synthskin glitches around his overworked thirium pump regulator, the circle of blue light visible under freckled skin.

“Oh, Hank,” Connor moans, his eyes opening wearily, though Hank doesn’t think he’s seeing anything. He’s staring off into the corner, where Reed’s sitting, watching. Reed is  _ watching _ . And Hank had forgotten for a moment (so wrapped up in Connor’s limbs and his heat and his energy) that this wasn’t his bed, and this body beneath him didn’t belong to him alone. Reed had taken Connor first, over and over again. And the thought should anger Hank, make him jealous. Instead, it sends him over the edge. 

His body siezes, fire surging through his veins, a cry getting caught in his throat, blood roaring in his ears while Connor whispers strained affirmations of gratitude and Hank empties his load in that pulsating warmth.

Connor’s babbling incoherent praise as Hank buries himself deep as he can go, shoving Connor’s hips up onto his lap, curling over him. Hank can hardly breathe, can’t think, can only watch Connor’s cock twitch weakly with another orgasm. 

Hank could collapse from the exertion, from the overwhelm, from the culmination of all his desires, but when Connor turns his eyes up to him, the expression in them is still hungry. “More,” he chokes.

From the corner, Reed laughs, strained. “What a slut.”

Hank would have taken offense at the slur on Connor’s behalf, but Connor just hums in contentment, trailing a hand through Hank’s chest hair, tilting his head back against the sheets. “Yes,” he says softly. “I like that.” 

Hank shudders, runs a hand through his hair to slick it out of his face. Almost sheepishly, he turns to look at Gavin. If he hadn’t just come, that sight would do him in.

Gavin’s sitting with his legs spread, his half-hard cock laying against his thigh, the robe’s sleeves scrunched around his elbows. His eyes are black with desire, trailing with satisfaction over Hank’s body. Hank doesn’t know it, but Gavin’s been longing for a glimpse of him like this for years.

Gavin has seen Hank half-naked in the locker room at the DPD -- but that was back in the old days, when Hank was still a uniformed officer, still trim, before the beer belly and before the gray overtook his hair. Gavin had been attracted to Hank then, but now? Still buried balls-deep in Connor’s ass, flushed with satisfaction, Hank is hotter than he’s ever been.

And there’s beautiful, perfect Connor, his LED spinning red like it has been for hours, looking blissed out of his mind and still, still ready to go. It’s like all those “daddy bear fucks twink android” porn searches Gavin’s deleted from his internet history -- but it’s infinitely better than some grainy video. Because Gavin gets to see the moment Hank realizes what he’s done, with whom, and where, and who’s been watching the entire time.

When Hank pulls out, Connor whines, and the white spurt of Hank’s load leaks out of him. Hank stares transfixed at the sight. All these long months he’s wanted Connor, and now he’s had him -- here in Gavin’s bed. This isn’t how he expected it to go. Connor was going to be shy and demure, unsure of himself. He’s not shy now. His legs are spread as wide as they can go, and he reaches down to finger his own hole, to relish the feeling of fullness, the wet slide of Hank’s and Gavin’s come, mingled together inside him. Hank scoots back on the bed to watch, completely transfixed.

“Who’s next?” Connor asks, his voice lazy and satisfied and tinged with delight. Hank and Gavin meet eyes across the room. 

It would take an army to satisfy Connor at this rate. 

But Reed stands, letting the robe fall onto the armchair, and he approaches, coming over to rest a hand on Hank’s shoulder. It feels -- somehow possessive. 

“I’ve got an idea,” he says. Hank shudders at the way Gavin’s fingers clench into his skin. 

Hank has never cared much for Gavin’s ideas. The young detective has been known to be sadistic, unethical, harsh. At work, Hank would sooner hit a dead end in any investigation than go to Gavin for a suggestion. But in the bedroom? Well. It turns out Gavin’s ideas aren’t so bad after all.

That’s how they end up like this -- with Gavin on all fours on the bed, Connor on his knees behind him, pistoning into him and practically wailing at the sensation, and Hank behind Connor, shoving one of Gavin’s larger dildos into him to keep him full and satiated as he comes. Gavin’s getting the breath fucked out of him, too overwhelmed to speak, letting out grunts of effort, every muscle straining to keep himself in this position, when Hank can tell he wants nothing more than to collapse. But Connor’s got a firm hold on Gavin’s hips, the slapping sound of his thrusts practically echoing throughout the room.

And Hank gets to watch all of it, gets to run his hand down Connor’s back while Connor fucks Gavin into submission. 

Reed has another idea after that, when he’s laying boneless on the bed after his fourth orgasm of the night, and Hank’s hard again just in time for Connor to beg him for more. Reed scoots to the edge of the mattress, lets his mouth hang open, and Hank helps position a wobbly Connor over Gavin’s lips. Standing there, Connor begins to fuck Gavin’s pliable throat while Hank takes Connor from behind, hitting something inside the android that makes him twitch and shake. Gavin chokes on Connor’s cock, and Hank peers over Connor’s shoulder to watch the tears roll down Gavin’s cheeks.

Connor finds he likes it standing up. From this angle, Hank’s cock hits the switch of his waste hatch, prompting urgent messages to scream alarms in his HUD that there’s some intrusion in his most delicate components. But Connor welcomes the intrusion. He barely has the energy, the coherency to thrust into Gavin’s throat, but that’s alright -- every time Hank slams into him, it drives him forward, and Gavin’s tongue undulates against the underside of his cock. Connor leans his head back on Hank’s shoulder, letting Hank kiss his useless lips. His body -- the result of millions of dollars of experimentation and manufacturing and programming and assembly -- is breaking in Hank’s hold, and Connor loves it. He comes down Gavin’s throat twice while he’s standing there with Hank’s cock pounding into him -- his synthskin retreats where Gavin’s hands are clutching his thighs, where Hank’s hands are pressed to his chest. 

Hank’s thrusts lose their rhythm, and he growls a warning into Connor’s ear. He's going to come. He's going to come buried so deep in Connor that he could ruin him. The error messages are building up. Intrusion. Too deep. Too much. Too full. So when Hank comes and his spend spurts into those untouched places in Connor’s internals, Connor screams, his eyes go black, and his body shuts down entirely.

* * *

When Connor comes to, it’s to Hank’s hand gently brushing his hair off his forehead. He’s laying on the bed once again, on his back, clearly maneuvered there by one or both of his partners after he passed out. It takes a moment for his vision to clear, for him to blink away the startup system diagnostics that scroll through his vision. When he looks up, Hank is sitting on one side of him, Gavin on the other, both of them looking down at him. Hank’s still mostly hard, still sticky with sweat, so Connor can’t imagine he’s been out for long. His fans are whirring inside him, but the heat has subsided just a little. The error messages remain, but they aren’t shrieking alarms anymore. There’s still an intrusion, still a mess inside him -- Hank’s mess. Hank’s come. So deep in him he’s going to have to break into his abdomen to clean it out. He smiles at the thought.

“I shut down,” Connor says softly.

Gavin grins at him, his lips puffy from kissing, from sucking Connor down so many times tonight. Connor’s going to have to thank him somehow. “It was kind of hot,” he admits. 

Hank lets out a sigh.  “You know, after we realized you weren’t dead or anything.”

“Yeah, after that.” 

Connor laughs a little trill of a thing, putting his hands over his face. “I’m embarrassed. I usually have more control over my systems,” he says, muffled.

Hank’s warm chuckle eases a little of that embarrassment, and soon Hank’s hand is pulling Connor’s away from his face. “It was nice seeing you lose control a little.”

“A little?” Gavin echoes incredulously, but he’s smiling too. “Didn’t even recognize you for a while there, robocop. You back to normal?”

Connor looks up at Gavin, this man he didn’t much care for mere hours ago, who has patiently and enthusiastically taken care of him all night -- then to Hank, who he has loved and longed for all these months, who is staring down at Connor like he’s the most beautiful thing in the world. 

“I doubt I’ll ever be back to normal,” Connor says. “But I like this better.” Normal, for him, has been a mess of confusion and dissatisfaction. Finally, some things are falling into place.

Gavin scratches his head, his face a little red -- it’s … cute. “I meant, like, you aren’t ready for another round right away, yeah? The old man and me are both pretty spent.” 

Hank’s warm, gap-toothed smile seems to make Gavin’s face flush deeper, and Connor laughs again, full of comfortable delight. “Not tonight. I have some maintenance to do after this, I believe.”

“You and me both, honey,” Hank says. He’s rubbing his lower back, and Connor makes a mental note to give him a nice, long massage later. Much later. He will need to spend some time in stasis to rearrange his completely ruined objectives programming, and his partners will need to get some rest, too.

“You uh,” Gavin starts, then stops, then clears his throat. “You two can stay. Tonight. If you want. It’s already pretty late.” 

Connor takes stock of the bed -- sheets torn in the pattern of his fingernails, come of both the human and android variety drying in the wrinkles and folds. But it’s Hank who declines. 

“I’ve gotta get home. I left pretty suddenly and Sumo needs to be let out, fed, all that.” And Connor doesn’t think he’s imagining it -- there seems to be a twinge of regret in Hank’s tone. And even more in Gavin’s when Gavin replies.

“Oh.”

“But,” Hank puts in, “if you wanted to, uh, come to our place?” He gives Connor a look with an eyebrow up, as if asking his permission.

Connor, somewhat labored, sits up, and gives Gavin the most welcoming smile his weary face can manage. “I’d like that.”

“It’d save you having to make the bed,” Hank suggests. 

Gavin, a look of complete surprise on his face, barks out a laugh. “I wasn’t really looking forward to washing the sheets this late at night, not gonna lie,” he says. Connor beams at him, and Gavin’s surprise melts away into an expression that might be considered tender -- at least tentatively so. 

Maybe something in him has softened toward Connor -- toward Hank -- after tonight.

"So you'll come home with us?" Connor asks. His hand falls on Gavin's knee and Gavin stares down at it, as if that's the most intimate way they've touched all night. He swallows.

"I -- yeah. Sure. Alright. But, uh, let's get cleaned up first, yeah?"   
  
"Fuck, please," Hank says on a laugh. The sound of it makes Connor laugh too.

As Hank and Gavin help Connor to his feet, lead him wobbling toward the shower, Connor leans heavily on them both, his mind cataloging the sensation of their hands around his arms, the tenor of their breath, their scents and their heartbeats and everything about them. Collecting data, experience. 

The events of tonight might not have followed his three-phase plan _exactly_ , but this? He supposes this is what humans might call a pleasant surprise.

And with these two, there will be many more to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! Follow me on Twitter [@AdmiralLiss](https://twitter.com/AdmiralLiss)


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